CHRISSI POLAND

The vibe on the tour bus this morning is something along the lines of “office hours”, coupled with “headphone listening party”. As we leave Toronto behind and approach the U.S./Canadian border, bound for Buffalo (home of Rick James, bitch), laptops are fired up, phones are buzzing with texts, and papers are strewn about. Some of us are attacking the monster that is taxes, some are editing music projects. Our tour manager is booking flights, thanks to the magic of bus wifi, and Jake Shears is doing a phone interview for a magazine. A few heads are nodding in time to whatever groove is being pumped from their iTunes to their headphones, and one or two tired souls have passed out in their bunks, a sort treasured space of cubby-holed solitude on this moving office/lounge/cave.

 In the past couple of weeks, I’ve done some things that I have dreamed about, reached for, even longed for. It’s a funny thing to have a desire for something, and then one day that very thing you have desired is upon you…you find yourself in the middle of that moment. I remember laying on the couch in my living room at 16, watching musical acts on Letterman and wanting to jump through the TV screen to join them. I remember it sparking fierce ambition in my gut. So when I walked onto the set of the Ed Sullivan Theater and took my place in front of the cameras and live audience with Scissor Sisters, the same spot where the Beatles, The Doors, and Elvis made television history, the same spot I watched on my TV at 16, I felt and saw everything. The frigidness of the studio, the tiny lights that dot the famous Brooklyn Bridge background set. The disco-ball glitz of Paul Schaffer’s wild coat, and the feel of the fabric on the guest chairs by Dave’s desk. And the hilarity of the sort of cosmic leap that happens when you go from looking at someone on television your whole life, to suddenly having them give you a wave and a goofy gap-toothed smile, to having them shake your hand and say, “nice job”.

 Then there was Madison Square Garden.

 For me, it was both extremes. It was “the most famous performance venue in the world”, and it was just another place to play, a big room with seats and screens. It was the biggest stage I had ever hoped to play when I moved to New York City alone, with grand ideas and aspirations, and in some ways it just can’t compare to playing to a crowd of forty or so on the Lower East Side, with my friends and those that kick my ass with their gifts and musical insights. It’s a tidal wave of emotion for sure, in the land of worldly desire and ambition. Every pothole that’s tripped me up along the way, literally and figuratively, was leading to that unparalleled moment. One brief moment in the middle of the set is rooted forever and firmly in my psyche, when the light was in my eyes, and I looked up to see the giant speaker system hanging above with the worlds “Madison Square Garden” printed across it, staring me back in the face. Right then, I was more enveloped in every atomic part of that moment than anything up until that point. And then, I looked to my left and saw my friend in the crowd, casting me a knowing smile, snapping a photograph, living all of it with me. It was real, and surreal, all at once. I took one ear monitor out, so I could hear the room. By the end of the set, I took both out.

 Walking off that stage, I felt as though I had stepped through a door I had been pounding on with both fists for a long time. And just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, my eyes locked on one Sir Paul McCartney, standing in the hall outside our dressing room. I felt a sting of water rush to my eyes, as I quietly thanked him for his music, and asked if I could give him a hug. He picked me up of the ground and swung me around…and called me “love”.

 I left the Garden that evening as the Gaga show raged on. I walked out alone, and waited for a cab at the taxi stand on 7th Ave. I’ve done this many times, coming up from the bowels of Penn Station to head off somewhere, to a gig, home to Brooklyn, to a rehearsal, to meet a friend for comfort food and comfort conversation. But walking off the stage at Madison Square Garden to hop in a cab….now that’s another story.